My First Sonnet

or

Water in the desert

The empty vessel, overflowing though
Its brim be wide, remains, I do so hold,
A porous liability, since so
Inadequate its sides when filled with holes.

A leaky bucket’s no alternative
When water in the desert’s found no more;
Dehydrated, no comfort do we feel
In noting water drops outside our doors.

Encircle your hands about, and bring them down;
No time is there for transport, vain or no;
You cannot say you drink enough, e’en now
When nourishment’s a dream, or just for show.

Too far to walk, too high the price to pay;
That water serves if thou, to drink, would stay.